The Raven Hunt
'Southwest Span - ' ---- ::The township of Lightholder is perhaps one of the most prominent locations in Fastheld. A well-maintained town with clean streets and a high standard of living, it is situated around the base of Caryas Hill upon the Imperial Isle, beneath the watch of the Royal Palace, it is surrounded on all four sides by the Lightholder River, though has flourished by virtue of being at the heart of all the trade routes and political developments in the Empire. ::''The buildings are usually timber-framed with wattle walls the color of clay, though a few stone buildings are also dotted around the place. The southwest span of the township - known as the Coach District - is especially robust due to the number of traveling Nobles and Merchants as they wait to visit the Palace or rest before heading on to other locations. ::''Of substantial note is the Lightholder Tavern, a large and sturdy no-nonsense stone structure with timber supports that has been rebuilt as many times as it has had owners. Having recently undergone renovation, it has since stuck a fine line between indulgence and pragmatic necessity, accommodating anyone that has coin to spare. ::''One might note that a exceptionally regal road of white cobbles ascends from this district to begin a clockwise-spiral around the edges of Caryas Hill itself. Known as the Palace Road, this wide route leads uphill to the gates of the Imperial Palace. ::''The Guild District of Lightholder rests on the southeastern span of the Imperial Isle towards the east, while the Merchant District can be found on the northwestern span in the north. The Lightholder River flows to the south and west, while Caryas Hill looms overhead in the northeast. ---- Preparations have already commenced for the evening's festivities. The weather is unusually fine for a day associated with bloody, gory, dismembered ravens. Not a cloud in the sky, and only the faintest hint of a Harvest chill in the air. Children are laughing, mothers scolding, and the street is already beginning to grow thick with people, despite the fact that most still work in the shops and on the docks. A minstrel is piping somewhere out of sight, the music sounding a little forlorn, a little eerie. And there, in front of the Lightholder Tavern, a man sits on a crate beside two cages packed full of ravens, smoking a pipe and looking pleased with himself as he jingles a coinpouch. This man is not Tahvron. Tahvron is nearby, leaning against the wall of the smithy and looking faintly bored. Both of his hands are tucked into his pocket, and he watches the squawking, offended ravens with the sort of absent-minded curiosity that comes to someone without much to do. Slowly, a youth in leathers walks out of the carriage stop, pausing as he looks around the area he has entered. "Huh, that time of year already?" Sandrim asks himself aloud. "Forgot about the Raven Hunt entirely." It's not so far a gap between the ravens by the tavern and the carriage hub--narrow enough, in fact, that it's not hard for Sandrim to catch Tahvron's eye, which is not so dull a one anyway. He studies the young man a minute, attention distracted from the call of the ravens as he searches for a name, or at least a reason to recognize him. Ah. There it is. The realization slides across his face even as it slips into his mind, and he gives a curt nod, and a grin. Motion? Sandrim turns his head to the side to catch sight of the nobleman, giving him a light nod as he walks over, to look at the ravens. "One has to wonder how the man up in that palace will react." The grin turns a shade wry as Tahvron turns his head to look up Caryas Hill towards the palace. "This celebration has been held for many years. His time up in that palace has been far shorter, perhaps, but I should certainly say long enough for him to outlaw such a celebration as this. He won't. Sandrim raises an eyebrow as he looks over to Tahvron. "Suppose he wouldn't," he agrees. "Would make things rather difficult, that. Here for the festivities, Lord Driscol?" "Ah, no." Tahvron shakes his head, casting a sidelong look at the caged birds. "Merely passing through on business. It would be... far more detrimental, I think, to attend such a celebration, given its political status. You have come for the Hunt, I take it?" Sandrim hmms. "I wasn't," he says slowly. "Was just going to be on my way up to Road's End..." "Road's End again?" Tahvron lifts a brow. "Quite the popular place these days. People never fail to gather at the feet of Tragedy." He smiles grimly. "I'm sure your Zylar fellow is enjoying the customers all this publicity must bring in. Give him my regards when you see him, will you not? He seems a good enough fellow." Sandrim rolls his heyes. "Road's End is where I grew up," he says. "But sure, I'll pass on your regards, Lord Driscol." Tahvron grins. "Aha! Will you try to deny that it *has* has visitors lately? Go ahead. I'm sure you know your hometown, nevertheless, it seems every other conversation I have outside of Silkfield mentions the mishaps at that place." Sandrim hmms. "It doess come up quite a bit, doesn't it?" he muses. "THere are reasons for that, though. Not every day there are lynchings like that." "Exactly." Tahvron spreads his hands. "My statement stands, no? People never fail to gather at the feet of Tragedy." Sandrim smiles a bit wryly. "People like to think they can do something to help abate it," he says. "Do something to prevent more." "And perhaps they can," Tahvron agrees mildly. "But tell me, doesn't that usually bring them to the site of the crime?" "It would have to," Sandrim says with a shrug, before reaching out to pluck up a raven corpse. "How does this one look?" Tahvron eyes the corpse of the raven, lips pursing. "Looks like a dead bird to me," he agrees. "Enjoy." Sandrim frowns as he looks at it. "Mm. NEver much liked this part," he admits, before he starts plucking off a few feathers. "Maybe just a few of these." A carriage pulls up the hub and squeaks as the chasis is forced to the side when the passenger departs. As it pulls away, the large and white-auraed Griedan is left standing behind. Light Brown eyes peer over the crowds which have yet to notice a man who glows in their presence. Tahvron grins, folding his arms to watch. "Does not the custom say 'more bird, stronger charm', or some such nonsense? Perhaps you should take a whole foot." He hasn't yet noticed Griedan. Sandrim raises an eyebrow. "I think I'm fine with a slightly weaker charm," he says. "Unless you would like a foot? Would probably make a good necklace." GRiedan's light-brown eyes eventually land upon Sandrim and Tahvron. Stepping off the platform, he starts to make his way through the crowd towards the pair. For the most part, people part the way before him, a number of them staring. Tahvron shakes his head, watching Sandrim take apart the bird with a certain (mild) interest. "I think not. It would not earn me many friends, I should think, to suddenly start wearing the dismembered Zahir heraldry as an ornament." The shift in the crowd attracts his attention, and he turns towards Griedan. No recognition this time, but a polite dip of the head nevertheless. "Charms! Charms! Git yer charms here!" cries a merchant from the sidelines, displaying a table full of raven bits on strings. Sandrim grins broadly. "I'm not really known for my Zahir friends anyways," the young man rationalizes, before he glances over his shoulder, apparently spotting the glowy man. "Hey, Griedan." For his part, Griedan watches with slight nausea at the event of the day, grimmacing at the sight of Sandrim particularly with his. "Wha' in th' name o' th' shades is goin' on 'ere?" he wonders aloud. A bow, almost belatedly, is offered to Tahvron. "Meh Lord." Tahvron watches Sandrim's plucking of the bird with curiosity--and yes, that's a pronounced interest now. "Mm. Well, perhaps there is a reason for that, no?" Tearing his eyes away from the dissection, he grins at Griedan. "I take it you're none too keen on this particular celebration of the year, Master?" "It's the Raven Hunt, Griedan," Sandrim says with a grin, before putting the bird down. "Alright, got a few feathers." A slim dark-haired figure proceeds down the street toward the heart of the festivities. Meian is recognizable easily from the neck down- but a red and black mask sculpted like a raven's face and beak and trimmed with feathers hides her face. A strange statement to make this day, perhaps. Griedan shakes his head at Tahvron and looks at all those around him wearing bits of raven. "No, canna say what that I'm t' fon' o' it." he mutters. "I un'erstan' what 's 'bout but seems a dark thin' t' me." "A few feathers. Pah!" Tahvron makes a face at Sandrim, but grins nonetheless. "You'll *bring* the ill luck or whatever it is these wretched charms are against at this rate." He considers Griedan a moment, thoughtfully (Meian hasn't been noticed just yet). "Ah, but surely you'll take part in the festivities? 'tis no crime to dabble in a little of the sport of the day. Aha!" Catching the cry of a nearby charm-seller, he strides off from his spot against the wall and takes up a dried head from the table, beak included, thrusting a couple of coins into the merchant's hands before turning to toss it at Griedan. "Come now, why not?" He smiles, invitingly. There is a trundling further up the street, like that of carts, accompanied by the clopping of hooves. The crowd spreads away as the wagons come into view, and cheers break out. Scattered clapping arises from the younger population, and after a moment the reason becomes clear--the dummies have arrived, heralded by the cries of a rosy-faced farmer, who has apparently donated his scarecrows to the cause. It may be that Tahvron has not yet made notice of Meian, but a few do. Strange looks are cast her way as the people take in the mask, a few tentative cheers of encouragement to that, one or two boos. Nobody's quite sure *what* to make of that, or really what statement she may be trying to make. Griedan catches the head and blanches. "Maneh thanks, Meh Lord." the large sunkissed mason replies, but further conversation is derailed by the arrival of the effigies and the strange mask worn by Meian. Not that he can recognize her from the neck down, that being the realm instead of her husband. Sandrim blinks at the toss, then laughs, sticking his feathers in his hair. "A good luck charm," he says, before turning to look at Meian. For some reason, he /does/ recognize her. "Nice mask, Meian!" Meian doesn't seem to mind the ambivalent reactions she gets, proceeding on her way. Pale eyes slant to Sandrim as the little mage nears, and a silvery laugh escapes her. "Well, I can't attend as a true raven," she murmurs, "so- I went for the next best thing." Tahvron grins, every bit aware of Griedan's reluctance to run around with a dried raven's head around his neck. Oh well. Witness: his remorse. Can't you see it right... *there*? Too bad they haven't invented the microscope yet. The wagon makes it into the center of the road, parting the crowd like some sort of twisted, writhing, euphoric and intoxicated Red Sea. There, the farmer pulls his mule to a halt, rising in his seat and raising both hands in the air to the applause of the crowd. The name "Goram Zahir" floats on the lips of the crowd, not *quite* suppressed... but as if they're trying. The merchant steps forward with his crates of ravens, now, muscular arms lifting each one high in the air. The live birds inside squawk angrily, beating their wings against the bars, beaks clacking and raising the crowd. Meian?" Griedan asks, looking at the raven-masked woman with surprise. The big man smiles at her as he approaches and offers the dried raven's head in his hand. "Wouldna think t' see yeh 'ere, lass. 'Course I woulda think t' fin' mehself 'ere either. This is... ne'er much enjoyed this cel'bration. Sandrim gives Meian a sly smile before murmuring, "Just make sure they aren't going to pluck you with the real ones." The mage stretches as he watches the dummies roll out. "And don't be so sour, Griedan. It's all fun." "Not fun for the ravens," Meian says simply, the mask concealing her expression- her voice calm and largely neutral, however. "I'm lucky that I'm only feathered some of the time, or I'd be hunted for sheer sport and spleen too. Of course, I'm surprised you don't understand how they feel, Sandrim." Tahvron glances at Meian, a wry smile on his lips. "Ah, come now. Needless prejudice against this sort of thing only spoils the fun, now. Enjoy yourself while you can, the holiday only comes but once in a year." There are a number of ways to slaughter a dummy. You could, for instance, stab one. Not quite as satisfactory (or productive) as stabbing something that *doesn't* just sit there and not care, but you could. There's also the option of burning it, disassembling it, or maybe something else, if one is feeling creative. But the choice of the day seems to be just to rip them apart. Grinning ear-to-ear, the farmer grabs the top dummy and flings it to the crowd. Hands seize, pulling, ripping, shredding, and straw flies into the air as the sound of ripping fabric mingles with the shouts. It's close enough that Griedan's probably about to get a faceful of straw. An instant later, another dummy sails through the air, people clambering and jumping to catch it. The spot it's headed for, however, happens to be the one currently occupied by Meian and Sandrim. To the point where if they don't at least move out of the way, someone's going to get clobbered. The raven man has not yet released his birds, but he seems about to. Griedan doesn't look at all too pleased to get the straw flung into his face and his expression, complete with golden bits stuck in his hair, shows it. He does note the trajectory of the second dummy however. Large hands grasp at Meian's shoulders and attempt to drag her out of harm's way. Reflex movements aren't exaxtly gentle, however. Sandrim, however, just tries to catch the darn thing. Laughing, Sandrim holds his hands up in the air, moving to place himself beneath it and catch hold. "What the- Griedan!-" Meian's audibly not best pleased, but she perhaps senses how futile the struggle might be- so she lets Griedan drag her. "I have my own two feet, you know!" Said two feet try to aid the stonemason in the haphazard process of getting her out of dummy's way. Griedan doesn't drag Meian far, just about the length of a man, pulling her to the side of him and then quickly letting her go. "Sorreh. Didna look what like 'twould b' a good thin' t' 'ave it lan' on yeh. Doesna seem what that r'straint is in th' people's v'cab'lareh t'night." The dummy lands squarely in Sandrim's hands, away from Meian and Griedan, and luckily light enough that it doesn't crush the mage. It doesn't take more than an instant, though, for the crowd to be on him, hands reaching out from all sides to grasp at corners of the dummy, laughter and shouting ringing near Sandrim's ears as people pull in a thousand different directions. Tahvron will make just this one risk, and snakes his hand between a couple of Freelanders to dig the fingers into the dummy's shoulder. With the others, he pulls, coming away with a massive handful of straw and a maniac grin. A cry goes up in the crowd now; the raven man has ascended the farmer's wagon, and holds his birds aloft. "De ravens! Release de ravens!" Sandrim laughs, struggling to hold onto as much dummy as he can, though he's half-hidden within the mass of bodies right now. "Meian! Griedan! You're missing out!" "It rarely is when the Hunt is on," Meian says softly, half-turning away. And yet pale eyes seek out the sky, waiting to see the ravens' flight. Sandrim's cry goes unanswered, the masked woman evidently more interested in her fellow birds than her fellow humans. In seconds, the dummy is ripped to shreds, and most all involved are left with handfuls of straw and fabric similar to the one Tahvron himself has just discarded. Other dummies are being shredded the same way throughout the crowd, and the wagon's empty now. The raven man is milking it for all it's worth. "Let 'em go, ye say?" "Aye!" "What's 'at? I cannae hear you!" "AYE!!" He holds the ravens even higher, muscles bulging under the weight, toothy grin flashing. "Are ye sure now?!?" Griedan drops the dried bird's head in his hand to the ground, discarded. Instead, it finds Meian's shoulder and delivers a pat and a warm squeeze. He too seems more engrossed in the fate of the caged birds than straw dummies. Sandrim squeezes his way out of the crowd, covered in straw and making for Meian and Griedan. "Come on, you two, didn't find the dummies fun at least?" "This isn't my kind of thing," is Meian's terse, quiet reply. One might wonder then why she's there, but then the girl seems to answer that- turning and moving away with a quick stride, aiming to melt into the nearby shadows of an alleyway where the crowd is far sparser. The finally 'aye' rings out, deafening to the point where many cover their ears. Somewhere, a child begins to cry, and it's mother scoops it up into her arms even as she raises a fist in the air and shouts with the rest of them. Setting one of the cages down, the merchant undoes the clasp of the other and literally flings the birds out over the crowd. And one truth becomes painfully clear. Their wings are clipped. The ravens flap pitifully, struggling for flight, failing, falling amidst the crowd, which doesn't hesitate to snatch them up. It's bloody, hands seizing birds to actually pull them apart. Mercy be damned. It has abandoned this festival. "Th' ol'er I get, th' mere d'stas'ful I fin' this cel'bration." Griedan answers. He's surprise by Meian's sudden departure, however, and turns to follow her to the alleyway. Hiding in the shadows is, unfortunately, not an option for Griedan though and he watches the display of inhumanity with mild disgust from the fringes. Sandrim quirks a small smile. "Pretty horrible, isn't it?" he asks. "I wonder what they think the next morning, of themselves. But they enjoy it. It always is fun, in strange ways." Very quietly over her shoulder, Meian tells Griedan, "I had plans. But they... can't even fly, can they?" A violent, almost vicious shake of her dark head. "I just can't watch this." And again the girl changes course abruptly- but this time *into* the crowd, moving to try and seize any birds she can and tuck them under her arms for some measure of safety. Cries of irritation and dismay echo through the crowd nearest Meian as she snatches up birds--as sought-after as they are, people are definitely noticing. Even as the merchant dumps the other crate over the crowd, many are diverting their attention almost entirely on the little mage. "'ey now," somebody calls. "Let 'em up, now. Dey ain't all yers!" A hand shoots out to actually detain Meian, aiming to grab her shoulder. "Doesn' seem s'." Griedan mutters. This time he doesn't follow Meian, but keeps an eye on her as best he is able to. She's fairly easy to pick out as the center of a commotion. Finally with a sigh, he starts to stride towards her, shoving people out of his way to get there. Sandrim shakes his head slowly. "The raven defender," he murmurs, before he starts running in after Griedan and Meian both. "Don't touch me," Meian hisses, eyes icy cold behind the mask. "This is -disgusting-. These birds didn't hurt anyone and here you are wallowing in their suffering. If anyone's evil here, it's -you-." She tries to jerk away from the touch, clustering the armfuls of ravens to her chest protectively. A man's fingers close around Meian's thin upper arm, gripping her firmly as she tries to shy away. "C'mon, now, lass. 'tisn't but a festival. Dere be no need t' get so worked up o'er it." His voice is gentle, but firm, and at the same time he reaches to take those birds from Meian. Tahvron has faded to the sidelines, watching from a distance and at the moment only half aware of Meian's predicament. Sandrim and Griedan meet plenty of resistance trying to wade through the crowd. People shove into them from left and right, jabbing elbows, feet sticking out at odd angles that make it easy to trip. And plenty of swearing at them, to boot. Shoving like this is not appreciated. Griedan sees the man grab at Meian and finally desides he's had enough fighting through the press of people. Even as big as he is it's not an easy task. Reaching down into his power, he draws it forth. His presesnce amongst the group becomes an almost physical force as he asks people to move out of his way. "Leave her to me." he instructs the man who'd layed hand upon Meian, reaching out to take her other arm in hand. "Come." Sandrim grimaces, doing his best to avoid being tripped here. "If only.. Meian! Pick the right battles." Meian looks surprised for a moment to be caught, though only a widening of her eyes betrays it under the mask- she nonetheless tries to turn away from the touch to keep the man from getting at the ravens. In doing so, however, she turns right into Griedan's broad chest with an oof. The look she slants up at the stonemason is a strange mixture of outrage and resignation, but the girl fights as best she can to at least keep a hold on her armfuls of bird. The man lets go of Meian, reluctantly, at Griedan's insistence, grumbling something under his breath and standing back. It's obvious he expects Griedan to give back the birds. The crowd only thickens around Sandrim in its attempt to move away from Griedan, and while the mage might not get tripped (if he's lucky), moving at all is becoming a very big issue. Still standing on the wagon above the crowd, the raven man peers down over the people to spot the disturbance. "'ey! Dose be my birds, yer messin' wi', Mistress! Ye'll let 'em free now, or ye be a thief!" Griedan starts to tug Meian away through the crowd. "'S not yer place er mine t' d' somethin' like this. An' 'e is right, aye. Th' b'long t' 'im, as sick'nin' a d'splay as 'tis." Sandrim... trips and is flat on his stomach trying to crawl through the crowd. "Hey! Watch out where you're going!" "May the Light spill as much of your blood as you spill of these birds'!" Meian cries sharply to the crowd, waiting until Griedan's hauled her to near the edges of the crowd to finally open her arms and release the ravens. "And may the Shadow mark your souls as black as their feathers!" There is a moment of stunned silence, cut only by the frightened squawking of the ravens, before a low murmuring starts. Meian better thank the Light she's wearing a mask, and they can't see the Mark on her face just now. But as the little mage is hauled away, they nevertheless surge forth, engulfing the birds. Blood slicks the cobbles beneath their feet. Sandrim, too, is caught beneath the sudden surge of the crowd. Feet stamp into the earth near the man's body, the people above nearly oblivious to his presence. By the time he gets out of there, he's probably got a couple of badly crushed fingers and a bruised calf where somebody tried to use him for a stepping stone. "Dun make m' 'ave t' pick yeh up an' run 'way, Meian." Griedan warns as he leads Meian away from the thick of the crowd, refusing to look upon the massacred birds or even allow her to see by keeping his bulky form in the way. "Le's get yeh someplace safe, aye." Perhaps the mask was indeed protection more than statement- who can say what Meian was planning when she arrived here? She doesn't try to look past Griedan, eyes frozen as they watch straight ahead. "I'm fine," she says quietly. "Anyone who tries to hurt me will find I'm more than they bargained for. ...Is Sandrim out there with them still?" "MY FINGERS!" Sandrim roars, trying his best to push himself to his feet. "Light, she's the one who tried to take your birds." Startled by the shout, the crowd jerks away from the battered Sandrim--though only briefly. Once again, their attention is fixed on the birds, and 'jerking away from Sandrim' generally means put a little more effort into avoiding stepping on him. For the time, Meian is forgotten, and the people seem to be more or less vindicated by the return of their feathery victims. Griedan grimmaces, a shudder running through his body as he's unable to shut his ears to the birds' screeches of pain and deathwails. Still, he glares at Meian. "An' b' luckeh t' keep yer 'ead on yer shoulders." Griedan retorts. "Not e'en I could save yeh ifn yeh were t' d' somethin' stupid like that." he scolds her. "Le's jus'... get t' where w' dunna 'ave t' 'ear this, aye? I think San'rim is still there, but 'e can look af'er 'imself well 'nough." Meian glances back, brows furrowing as she catches something of Sandrim's shout- though it's mostly submerged in the general roar. "Griedan, I don't need saving," she says simply. "I appreciate it, aye- but I'm not the scared little girl I was once was. ...Still, aye, let's go." Sandrim pushes himself to his feet, finally, cradling an injured hand, before he starts looking around with a /purpose/. As soon as he spots the raven-masked vigilante, he's running after her, wincing with each step. "E'ereh 'un need savin' 'unce in a while." Griedan rumbles at Meian, leading her towards Lightholder Tavern and unaware of Sandrim's pursuit. "I should jus' leave Fas'eld t' tear 'tself 'part an' burn t' ashes." the big man mutters to himself. Meian doesn't notice her injured pursuer yet, heading towards the tavern- but holding up a finger as they near. She ducks into a nearby alleyway, pulling off mask and then beginning to strip out of her armor's jerkin. Luckily, the chemise underneath preserves her modesty. "Someone's got to d-do something," the girl mumbles, voice thickening as the mask is removed. Dodging citizens, Sandrim slips into the alley near Meian and Griedan, grumbling. "What, just /what/ were you doing?" Griedan shrugs. "People arena' worth th' effort." he tells Meian. "S'pose I could 'ave stood up an' said somethin' like I did b'fere, aye, try t' d'clare it t' b' 'ereseh, but what would b' th' point?" he asks. "People -are-," Meian disagrees, turning her back on the two men. The armor's shoved into her backpack and a plain black bodice withdrawn, which she wriggles into and deftly laces up. "...I w-was making a s-stand. Would you l-let them do that to r-real Zahirs, Sandrim?" Sandrim winces as he comes up. "No," he says. "But Meian? Those were /birds/. And not your type of bird either. You're human, Meian." "Not fer th' mos' part." Griedan counters, averting his eyes while Meian changes. He makes a good screen as well. Looking down at his hand, Griedan flexes it into a fix. "'S th' firs' time what that I touched th' magic in a long time. I've r'fused t'." He snorts after. "Wish what that I'd ne'er 'ad it in th' firs' place." "The boundaries b-between what I am and what I'm n-not are... more f-fluid than otherwise," Meian murmurs lowly, tying up the bodice and turning. "...L-let's get inside, aye?" She takes a closer look at Sandrim's stance, sighing. "And you're h-hurt. I'm sorry." Sandrim holds up a hand, showing... what appears to be a disclocated finger on his left hand. "Inside's good," he agrees rather dryly. "Wan' m' t' fix that fer yeh?" Griedan asks Sandrim as he steps away to let the now fully-clothed Meian past. "Meh ap'tite's ruined, aye, but a drink soun's good." Meian sighs a little, scurrying forward to get the tavern door and hold it for the two men in a thoughtless reversal of normal chivalry. "Go on, get," she invites kindly. "If you can," Sandrim admits to Griedan after a moment's hesitation, before nodding to Meian and slipping inside. Griedan pauses and looks at Meian for several moments. "Strange thin', bein' cursed." he mutters to the young mage before stepping through the door. "Now imagine k-knowing that your power lurks i-in wait dreaming of d-devouring everything good and sane a-about you," Meian tells Griedan with a slight, knowing smile, following him in. ---- '''Tavern Hall - ' ---- ::It is said - primarily by the proprietor, a jovial merchant-classer named Solas Creek - that all roads in Fastheld lead to the Lightholder Tavern. On any given night, it's not hard to see why he might justify such a claim. ::''The pub, which started centuries ago as a small refreshment wagon for laborers building Fastheld Keep atop Caryas Hill, sees boisterous crowds filling its rafters with laughter and pipe smoke at all hours of the day and night as travelers make their way through the realm. ::''About three dozen tables are arranged among the polished wooden columns on which hang the wrought-iron lanterns that help give the tavern its name. Solas or one of his assistants can usually be found working behind a wide C-shaped counter, serving mugs of keg-tapped ale to thirsty patrons who stand at the bar. ::''The floor is strewn with amber rushes, except in a circle of about twenty feet in diameter, where the stone fireplace and chimney rise toward the ceiling. ---- Once inside, Sandrim makes his way for a table by the wall, away from any windows, crading his hand. "Mmf." "I'm not sayin' what that yeh 'ave it easeh, Meian. Infac', I know what that yer curse 's a lot mere unpleasan' than mine." Griedan says to Meian as they walk into the tavern. "Aye. What I'm s-saying is that we've a l-lot in common... and a l-lot different," Meian murmurs softly, moving to join Sandrim's table. "And a-also... if I've s-still got my faith in o-others... w-why shouldn't you?" Sandrim gives the both of them a rather baleful look. "So... learned how to treat these things from Adrianna?" he asks pointedly, holding out his hand. "From gettin' int' fights when I was a kid an' dislocatin' 'em from punchin' some'un else." Griedan tells Sandrim as he takes the man's offered hand and looks it over. He does it quickly, grasping the dislocated finger and giving it a pull to set it. Meian grimaces sympathetically at the gesture, murmuring, "I'll... get you some ale." The girl rushes off to the bar speedily, digging into one of her beltpurses and offering a handful of coin to the bartender with a mumbled order. Sandrim lets out a grunt of pain at that, leaning against the table. "Sss. That's... Okay, better now, but ouch." Griedan lets Sandrim's hand go and then wait for Meian to come back before he answers her question. "B'cause there's nothin' much worth 'avin' faith in Meian. I 'ave meh close frien's like yeh an' Kael, I 'ave meh fam'leh, an' maybeh I can trus' Tshepsi an' Ladeh Celeste." he shrugs. "E'erehthin' else is.." he trails off with another shrug. "People are b-basically good," Meian disagrees softly as she returns, setting down three mugs of ale. "It's j-just that we're born i-into a world of darkness. Don't l-look at evil as a s-surprise, as something worth losing f-faith over. Animals s-slaughter each o-other, for food or sometimes even f-for the hunt. The f-fact we are more t-than that is amazing." Sandrim reaches over to take the ale, drinking deep of it. "It's pretty sad," he says after he swallows, "that she seems to be doing better on the whole faith in man thing than you." Griedan looks at Sandrim for a moment before his gaze drops down to the table. "No, e'il's no' a s'prise. Seen a lot o' it in maneh forms lateleh." he tells the pair. Yeh 'ave faith in people er Light er anathin', yer goin' t' jus' set yerself up t' b' b'trayed." "Cruelty and p-pain is the state of the natural world," Meian says simply. "L-look around yourself. Every w-winter, the whole w-world dies. We w-were born so t-that we must kill to l-live, and so we k-kill. Most a-animals even kill t-their own kind without thinking twice. But humans? Humans are d-different. Humans weep and h-hesitate to end a life. You look at it a-all wrong, Griedan. E-every single good act is a miracle and a m-marvel, a gift from the Light. And there are.. c-countless." Sandrim closes his eyes, nodding. "Lots of them... Even we can see that." "An' yet th' vereh same what that d' good acts... quick t' d' what th' did out there t'night." Griedan says to his friends. "Er a mob 'angin' some'un b'cause th' think what that 'e might b' r'spons'ble fer bringin' shaduh an' ruinin' crops." "They were r-raised in ignorance and h-hatred. Future generations can be t-taught better," Meian says softly. "Ten y-years ago I'd be dead if I w-walked the street as a known mage. N-now, I hardly even get a rock t-tossed, and if I do the law will protect me. Oh, -how- much progress w-we have made..." Sandrim shakes his hand out. "And... Right, this would be the wrong place to argue any points in favor of the Raven Hunt, but... I don't think you really need to worry about this so much. They were fine, really, until the ravens were being taken away." "Th' laws are e'ereh bit as corrupt an' corruptin' as Shaduh an' Light." Griedan replies, standing up. "Jus' like th' people b'hin' 'em. Laws change, aye. I suspec' what that th' will b' doin' s' 'gain b'fere t' long." Meian sighs quietly, shaking her head and lifting her ale. "The w-world is full of beauty and light," she says softly. "I hope you see t-that, Griedan." Sandrim pulls one of the feathers that still remains out of his hair, twirling it. "And Griedan, regardless of whether or not I agree with you... The Regent /is/ living just uphill from here, you know." Griedan looks at Sandrim with a raised eyebrow. "I didna say anathin' 'bout the Regent." He replies and turns to regard Meian next. "I fail t' see where a world full o' Light would b' a good thin', Meian." "Light -is- good, G-griedan," Meian says simply. "Not everyone w-who claims to speak in its n-name is. But the L-light is as good as the S-shadow is evil- and aye, b-both of those run d-deeper than mortal m-minds can know." Just a faint, slight smile is offered up to him by her thin lips. "Just to h-have one friend is, to me, p-proof of the goodness in the w-world." Sandrim smiles a bit faintly. "I'm... going to get to sleep," he says. "You two, take care. Try not to tick off the residents anymore, okay?" "Light is... Ifn it chooses some'un like maneh o' those what that I 'ave know... I dunna wan' ana thin' t' d' with it. B'sides, I'm thinkin' what that I realleh shouldn' 'ave been chose anaways." Griedan states. "Lord Varal is th' onleh other sunkissed I've met what doesna 'ave in'cent blood on their 'ands." Meian laughs lowly at that, glancing down. "Don't know if I c-could agree with you there," she says simply. "B-but does S-shadow always choose the evil?" "Course not Meian." Griedan replies, sitting on the edge of the table. "But we're talkin' each an e'ereh sunkissed what that I know." "H-how many more Sunkissed are t-there that you d-don't know? And w-what about Lady Celeste?" Meian tilts his head, regarding Griedan with curious pale eyes. "Ladeh Celeste was a Scourge with th' Church o' True Light, Meian." Gredan says. "Sh' 'as done thin's in th' pas' what that sh' isna proud of. Trus' me, sh' mos' cer'ainleh 'as blood on 'er 'ands." "And t-that means that she c-can never be forgiven?" Meian asks bluntly, still watching Griedan. "I didna say what that sh' canna b' fergi'en Meian. But yeh canna say what that yer pas' is jus' gone either. Fergi'en but no' fergo'en." Griedan tells Meian. "If n-no one who'd ever done w-wrong in their life c-could be considered good, t-then we are all doomed," Meian says simply with a slight, sad smile. "Sh' is a good person, but was 'volved in some wicked thin's, Meian. Vereh wicked thin's. I dunna 'old 'er deeds 'gainst 'er, but I dunna jus' say what they arena' impor'ant er ma'er." comes the big man's reply. "Wish what that th' Light 'ad jus' lef' me 'lone 'stead o' turnin' m' int' this... freak." Meian shakes her head sadly, whispering, "I w-wished I'd been Kissed. I s-still do. Then people would r-realize I meant to d-do good, not evil. You have s-something so beautiful, I'd... give anything..." "Ifn I could give it t' yeh, I'd d' it gladleh." Griedan tells Meian. "I dunna wan' it. I dunna wan' t' b' some tool t' d'stroy others an' b' a blind av'tar." "You c-could turn it into s-something beautiful," Meian insists, but still barely above a whisper. "I w-wish... how I w-wish I could do that." The girl slumps back in her seat. "So m-much beauty, and you just c-can't see it..." "What I see is that this thin' 'as turned m' int'... soemthin' strange." Griedan tells Meian. "What d' yeh see beaut'ful 'bout glowin' like a great big candle?" he asks sourly. "People look at you and t-they believe that y-you're good," Meian sighs wistfully. "I c-can't imagine w-what that's like. E-everywhere I go, it's... at b-best indifferent c-curiosity... at worst, fear." "People look an' stare at me." Griedan says. "Look... I dunna like bein' like this. I dun' like bein used beh some power." "But you're not," Meian murmurs softly. "Light gives... and it lets y-you do w-what you like with the g-gift. It doesn't c-compel you to be a- a certain way. Not like Shadow..." "D' yeh realleh think what that th' Light realleh cares, Meian? D' yeh realleh b'lieve that it gives a thought 'bout ana o' us?" Griedan asks, frowning. "Yes," Meian says simply. "And I b-believe it c-can't act directly. But it wants all g-good things for us, inspires all g-good urges that live in our hearts. And I d-don't think it chooses its Kissed at r-random, even if s-sometimes they go wrong." "Seems t' me what that th' all d'." Griedan says, slipping off the edge of the table. "I'm goin' t' g' back 'ome an' look af'er me an' mine." he informs Meian. "Alright," Meian sighs, bowing her head, "G-give them all my love, aye?" That does bring back a smile, gentle and slight. "I will Meian. D' m' a favor would yeh?" Griedan asks. "Try t' keep yerself out o' situations what will maybeh get yeh killed, 'specialleh 'uns what that yeh start yerself?" At that, Meian can't help but giggle. "I c-can't entirely promise that," the girl notes, a twinkle in her eye. "B-but I'll do my b-best." ---- ''Return to Season 8 (2008) Category:Logs